


Little Things

by sadsongssaysomuch



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 16:32:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1717256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadsongssaysomuch/pseuds/sadsongssaysomuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve/Bucky feels - post Captain America: The Winter Soldier</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Things

When they finally found him, Bucky was a mess. No longer the Winter Soldier, but not quite himself. It didn’t matter though, he would always be Bucky to Steve.

He came with Steve readily enough. Jumbled memories, fried synapses, but deep down he knew that Steve was his friend. He was safety and home, not his mission, not anymore. Nat and Sam both offered to help, to take turns watching over Bucky. Steve appreciated their offers, but he turned them down. It didn’t feel right. It had always been just Bucky and him, so many things had changed, but that’s how it should be still.

It was rough at first. Steve knew it would be. Bucky had good days and bad days. Sometimes Steve would catch a glimpse of the old Bucky, the friend who had watched out for him and protected him, inside the eyes of the former Winter Soldier. Bucky would almost smile at Steve and that was progress enough. It's a little thing,  a genuine smile where the corners of Bucky’s mouth turn up. There are so many little things that Steve forgot. But the more time he spend with Bucky, who really is becoming more like Bucky now, the more he remembered too.

There were bad days though, and on the bad days, it was like trying to bail water out of a sinking boat with a bucket full of holes. The days when Bucky wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t even acknowledge him hurt the most.

But the nights, the bad nights, were the worst. Bucky was like a newborn, waking every two to three hours. Steve didn’t mind the waking so much, he didn’t need much sleep anyway. Bucky wasn’t a baby though, no warm milk and pats on the back would calm him down or get him back to sleep. There were noisy nights, when Bucky would scream, like he was falling again. Sometimes in English, other times barking out in Russian. But the quiet nights were worse. When Bucky would wake and simply stare off into space, his mouth curled into a grimace, his eyes full of pain.

Bucky didn’t like to be touched. He didn’t think he was worthy. He would flinch whenever Steve laid a hand on him, even when he was having a good day. So as much as Steve wanted to wrap his friend in a tight embrace, to hug him like Bucky used to hug him, he didn’t. Steve dealt with it the only way he knew how, with calm stoicism and patience. He simply was there for Bucky, because he had promised, they had promised each other. _‘Till the end of the line._

Since Steve didn't sleep much, and Bucky woke often, he'd taken to spending the night in a chair by Bucky’s bedside. He’d doze off, but could snap awake if Bucky needed him. But even a super soldier needs a good night’s sleep sometimes and of course, the one night Steve actually fell into a deep sleep was the night that Bucky woke silently and got out of bed.

Something made Steve wake up though, the feeling of wrongness or Bucky’s absence, whatever it was, Steve woke up to find the bed empty. Not knowing what was wrong but knowing _something_ was wrong, Steve –unflappable Steve— panicked. The open window was his first clue to Bucky’s location, and through the billowing curtains he saw Bucky, leaning over the edge of the fire escape. The wind blew through Bucky’s hair, still long because Steve couldn’t talk him into a trip the barber.  What could he do? Steve didn't want to startle Bucky, didn’t want to scare him making jump. As much as he wanted to yank Bucky back from the ledge, he couldn’t.

So he'd stood at the window and coaxed Bucky back inside. Talking slowly, calmly.  “Bucky,” he’d said. And his friend had turned to look at him, eyes blank.

“Hey pal, why don’t you come on back to bed, huh? There’s nothing out there. You don’t need to be out there.” He didn’t know how long he babbled, just letting the words flow from his mouth. He didn’t even know what he had said, because all he could think of was losing Bucky again. Something he said must have worked, must have gotten through, because there was a spark of recognition in Bucky’s eyes and eventually he shuffled slowly back in through the window.

Steve’s heart had raced a mile a minute, something he’d forgotten the feeling of. It didn’t slow down until Bucky was back inside and the window was locked. Watching Bucky curl up on himself on the bed triggered Steve’s memory. A memory of many nights spent sharing a bed with Bucky. Out of necessity, for warmth, for comfort. So Steve climbed into bed, careful not to touch Bucky, not to startle him. And even though it wasn’t the same, it would never be exactly the same, they both slept better that way. Bucky woke less and Steve worried less.

It made a difference, and one little thing after another, Steve drew Bucky back from wherever his mind had gone. Steve finding an honest-to-god record player and playing Bucky’s favorite records. Hanging up the picture of the two of them, smiling, back in the days before everything got complicated, everything had changed. Little by little, Steve was getting the old Bucky back. His Bucky.


End file.
